Yesteday was Thanksgiving. I think of it as Paul's and my holiday, of a variety of reasons, some of which I posted several years ago (has it really been nine years? hmmm...). It had to do with my inviting him to Thanksgiving dinner, us both unintentionally standing the other up, joking the following year about having to get married to get a turkey dinner, only to have it be turkey bologna (the person whose benefit we did that for didn't buy what we were saying), then getting four turkeys the Thanksgiving after he died.
There are so many memories when it comes to holidays. But then, that goes along with life in general. Holidays, though, seem to be a condensed version of life, in that everyone who's able to gets together, rather than the occasional one-on-one.
I had originally thought of getting up at five yesterday morning, but then set the alarm for six. (Five a.m. is just too obscene a time to get up, especially to jump right into holiday cooking.) By the time I had the second set of pies in the oven (apple; the first two were pumpkin, which came after baking pumpkin bread), the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade was on. My sons and I watched/listened while they dealt with computers and I worked on the day's dinner.
M. had mentioned that it'd be great to watch the original Miracle on 34th Street right after the parade. We watch it every year, usually in the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas. But I had given him a copy of it last year for Christmas, and he really wanted to watch it after the parade. No problem.
Part of me had wanted to go for a walk after the parade was over. It has been part of my holiday ritual for years, not only on Thanksgiving, but also Christmas and Easter. I've made mention of the walk several times over the years: near the end of a December 2012 post, a post from this past April, dealing with an Easter walk. This second one had me a little down, as I really didn't want to see how much more of the wooded area had been destroyed. On the other hand, the subtle changes are sometimes good, and usually interesting. But then, I also wasn't sure when my daughter and granddaughter would be here. I knew when I'd told them dinner would be close to ready, but I didn't want to leave, in case they came early, and wanted to do something else, like, say going to the beach, as we did last year.
But in the end, I didn't go for a walk. I might, sometime this weekend.
M.H. and G. arrived shortly before five. Dinner still had a little ways to go (not long, but enough...) and while stuff was cooking, G. and I talked while she helped peel potatoes and M.H. worked on homework for school. (She's back in college while working, something I'd done years earlier.)
When dinner was finally ready, everyone ate too much (what else is new, right?), and we talked, and basically had an enjoyable time.
After dinner, as I started clearing the table, M.H. started doing the dishes. At first, I thought she was only going to do a few, but the next thing I knew, the only thing left was the roaster pan, which was left to soak in the sink. Everything else had been cleaned!
After my daughter and granddaughter left, I thought about the first Thanksgiving they were back in Florida. So much has changed over the years.
No matter the holiday, there are always memories for all of us, I thought, as I got out the boxes of Christmas cards to start addressing (another tradition - starting the cards on Thanksgiving evening). Hope your day was good...
Friday, November 29, 2019
Wednesday, October 9, 2019
The More Things Change...
I've been doing a bit of thinking lately about how much things change, and not just the little things, either. October does that for me, puts me in a reminiscent-type frame of mind.
As far as the big/little things are, what might be a little thing to one person can be a big thing for someone else. If you don't see someone for a while, it might (or might not) be a big thing. But if that person has died, it's definitely a much bigger thing for that person, and his or her family. I'm thinking my friend Kevin. While I hadn't seen or spoken with him in several years, and while it might have been a small thing in the grand scheme of the world, it was still sort-of a big thing for us (my family and me), and definitely a much bigger thing for him and what's left of his family.
There were reasons we hadn't spoken for a while, but that's neither here nor there. I figured we had known each other for several decades. He's also the very last person I knew from when we both drove cab whom I had had even the slightest contact with, so with his death, it's like an entire chapter of my life is closed.
My sons and I have lived in the same house in what seems like forever. While some of the neighbors are the same ones who lived in the neighborhood when we moved in, the majority have moved. I can point to a house, and remember that the guy who drove a race car on the local circuit and worked on the car on weekends lived there, then sold the house to S. and C., who had their twins while they lived there, who then sold it to B., who...Well, you get the idea. And while some of the change, no matter how minor, is understandable and do-able, some of it can be almost disconcerting.
I used to walk/run for years. It's easy enough exercise: you put on your shorts and a t-shirt, sneakers, and head out the door, work up a sweat, then come home and get on with your day. I even blogged about it for a while.
I'm trying to get back into it, though I haven't done it near as much as I used to. When one hasn't exercised for a while, it takes time to ease back into.
For a while, my walks included bringing Osha along. (I've posted about Osha here in the past, including "A Tail of Two Cats (and a Dog and another Cat.") She was a sweetheart; it was tough when she passed.
Osha
When I wasn't walking Osha, I'd pass by a nearby stable and house on maybe 10 acres or so of land. For a while, there were quite a few horses stabled there. Then, slowly, the numbers dwindled until there was only one horse, a graying old mare named Smoky.
She would frequently be grazing in the middle of one field. One morning, I brought along a carrot, and managed to get her to come over to the fence, where she received the carrot for her troubles.
"Don't forget to bring a carrot for the horse," Paul would tell me when I'd start lacing up the sneakers. It even got to the point where Paul would ask if we had carrots whenever we'd go to the store.
Finally, the stable started filling up with horses, which made the scenery nicer during my run. (Smoky was still the only horse who got carrots, though.)
Maybe two years ago, I noticed there were no longer any horses at the stable. Smoky had died, according to one of the old men who worked at the stable. And then, the house started looking rough. The city bought it when the renter could no longer afford it, and the owner couldn't sell it. The house got demolished and slowly, the stable started falling apart. It was a little disheartening.
Another change, though I've posted it here once or twice: Paul has passed, as have numerous family members.
Paul
A friend rented our spare room for a short while, years before he quit driving cab, before his health took a dive. Family members were here, then moved; jobs, gotten and lost; scenery changes.
Thank goodness for memories...
As far as the big/little things are, what might be a little thing to one person can be a big thing for someone else. If you don't see someone for a while, it might (or might not) be a big thing. But if that person has died, it's definitely a much bigger thing for that person, and his or her family. I'm thinking my friend Kevin. While I hadn't seen or spoken with him in several years, and while it might have been a small thing in the grand scheme of the world, it was still sort-of a big thing for us (my family and me), and definitely a much bigger thing for him and what's left of his family.
There were reasons we hadn't spoken for a while, but that's neither here nor there. I figured we had known each other for several decades. He's also the very last person I knew from when we both drove cab whom I had had even the slightest contact with, so with his death, it's like an entire chapter of my life is closed.
My sons and I have lived in the same house in what seems like forever. While some of the neighbors are the same ones who lived in the neighborhood when we moved in, the majority have moved. I can point to a house, and remember that the guy who drove a race car on the local circuit and worked on the car on weekends lived there, then sold the house to S. and C., who had their twins while they lived there, who then sold it to B., who...Well, you get the idea. And while some of the change, no matter how minor, is understandable and do-able, some of it can be almost disconcerting.
I used to walk/run for years. It's easy enough exercise: you put on your shorts and a t-shirt, sneakers, and head out the door, work up a sweat, then come home and get on with your day. I even blogged about it for a while.
I'm trying to get back into it, though I haven't done it near as much as I used to. When one hasn't exercised for a while, it takes time to ease back into.
For a while, my walks included bringing Osha along. (I've posted about Osha here in the past, including "A Tail of Two Cats (and a Dog and another Cat.") She was a sweetheart; it was tough when she passed.
Osha
When I wasn't walking Osha, I'd pass by a nearby stable and house on maybe 10 acres or so of land. For a while, there were quite a few horses stabled there. Then, slowly, the numbers dwindled until there was only one horse, a graying old mare named Smoky.
She would frequently be grazing in the middle of one field. One morning, I brought along a carrot, and managed to get her to come over to the fence, where she received the carrot for her troubles.
"Don't forget to bring a carrot for the horse," Paul would tell me when I'd start lacing up the sneakers. It even got to the point where Paul would ask if we had carrots whenever we'd go to the store.
Finally, the stable started filling up with horses, which made the scenery nicer during my run. (Smoky was still the only horse who got carrots, though.)
Maybe two years ago, I noticed there were no longer any horses at the stable. Smoky had died, according to one of the old men who worked at the stable. And then, the house started looking rough. The city bought it when the renter could no longer afford it, and the owner couldn't sell it. The house got demolished and slowly, the stable started falling apart. It was a little disheartening.
Another change, though I've posted it here once or twice: Paul has passed, as have numerous family members.
Paul
A friend rented our spare room for a short while, years before he quit driving cab, before his health took a dive. Family members were here, then moved; jobs, gotten and lost; scenery changes.
Thank goodness for memories...
Sunday, September 22, 2019
My Friend, Kevin
The text hit my cell phone this morning when I turned it on. It was from my friend Kevin's brother, and it was to let me know that Kevin died last night.
I'd mentioned Kevin several times in this blog, though it had been a while since I mentioned him. I'd also posted a photo of Kevin in my photography blog, as well as an article on my production site in which Kevin figured in prominently ("Wait'll You Hear This One!" on this page).
Kevin and I met when we both drove cab in Florida. He started a few months after I did, then quit, finally coming back several months later, continuing through the beginning of 2015. I'd know him for more than 20 years. He was one of the last people I knew from my cab driving days.
He is responsible for my having two cats, as mentioned in "I've Gone to the Cats...". He'd given us Karma; we then adopted Drexie to keep Karma company.
Kev and his dad had shared an apartment for years. Then, when Dad had died (everyone who knew Kev well got to the point where they'd just call his dad Dad, rather than "your dad"), Kevin moved into our spare bedroom for a while. It worked out for a while...until it didn't, at which point, we had him move out.
Shortly after he moved in, one of his brothers died. There had been a total of four brothers and one sister. In the year or two after Kev moved out, another brother and his sister died. Then it was only Kev and his brother, J.C. (yes, I'm using only his initials here, for his privacy).
J.C. and I would touch base periodically about Kev. The last time was maybe a couple of months ago, when I'd texted about any news. J.C. had called and let me know that Kev was in bad shape, but was, at least, in a place where he was getting care, meals, a bed...
Then, this morning, the text from J.C. that Kevin had passed away. I called back shortly after noon, got J.C.'s voicemail, and left a message. He called back after this six.
We both agreed that Kevin had been difficult at times, but that we both had plenty of good Kevin memories.
"At least he's not in pain any more," J.C. mentioned, and I agreed.
Yes, there were difficult times, some of which led to his moving out, but which I won't go into here; it wouldn't serve any purpose. But there are plenty of good memories. It's hard losing a friend, especially one of the last remaining friends from a particular time in my (and Kevin's) life.
Kevin, you'll be missed. Peace, my friend. This song's for you (it was one of his favorites, that I know about): Low Rider.
I'd mentioned Kevin several times in this blog, though it had been a while since I mentioned him. I'd also posted a photo of Kevin in my photography blog, as well as an article on my production site in which Kevin figured in prominently ("Wait'll You Hear This One!" on this page).
Kevin and I met when we both drove cab in Florida. He started a few months after I did, then quit, finally coming back several months later, continuing through the beginning of 2015. I'd know him for more than 20 years. He was one of the last people I knew from my cab driving days.
He is responsible for my having two cats, as mentioned in "I've Gone to the Cats...". He'd given us Karma; we then adopted Drexie to keep Karma company.
Kev and his dad had shared an apartment for years. Then, when Dad had died (everyone who knew Kev well got to the point where they'd just call his dad Dad, rather than "your dad"), Kevin moved into our spare bedroom for a while. It worked out for a while...until it didn't, at which point, we had him move out.
Shortly after he moved in, one of his brothers died. There had been a total of four brothers and one sister. In the year or two after Kev moved out, another brother and his sister died. Then it was only Kev and his brother, J.C. (yes, I'm using only his initials here, for his privacy).
J.C. and I would touch base periodically about Kev. The last time was maybe a couple of months ago, when I'd texted about any news. J.C. had called and let me know that Kev was in bad shape, but was, at least, in a place where he was getting care, meals, a bed...
Then, this morning, the text from J.C. that Kevin had passed away. I called back shortly after noon, got J.C.'s voicemail, and left a message. He called back after this six.
We both agreed that Kevin had been difficult at times, but that we both had plenty of good Kevin memories.
"At least he's not in pain any more," J.C. mentioned, and I agreed.
Yes, there were difficult times, some of which led to his moving out, but which I won't go into here; it wouldn't serve any purpose. But there are plenty of good memories. It's hard losing a friend, especially one of the last remaining friends from a particular time in my (and Kevin's) life.
Kevin, you'll be missed. Peace, my friend. This song's for you (it was one of his favorites, that I know about): Low Rider.
Wednesday, April 24, 2019
Possibly the Last Holiday Walk...Or Not
After disappearing from here for a while, I'm finally back to posting with some regularity (I hope). I'm going to give it a darn good shot!
This past Sunday was Easter, a time when many of us have family over for a holiday meal and to just hang out.
I know, I know, it's also a religious day, as in holy day. But that's beside the point. Most of us have traditions that get us through the holidays, the days, years, which is the point I'm getting to.
Years ago, when I'd quit driving cab, but my better half still drove, I decided to take a walk through a nearby park after putting the turkey into the oven. I'd already bake the pies, and wouldn't have to start the mashed potatoes, etc. for a few hours, so since the back entrance to the park is only a few houses away, I figured I'd burn some calories from the big meal ahead of time.
I picked one of the horse trails that I usually didn't go through the rest of the year for several reasons. It would take a good hour to head to the end of the trail and back; the scenery was a little different, and therefore, seemed a little more of a tradition (the holiday path is how I came to think of it); and the old standard, "just because." It was nice seeing the subtle changes from holiday to holiday.
Palm Frond, Easter, 2010
For the record, the holidays I'd go out for this walk remained the same three: Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter. I tried keeping up with this tradition, even after my better half retired. He'd use the time for a nap (who can't use a nap or two on the holidays!), while I got my alone time wandering through the wooded park. True, there were some holidays when I didn't make it out: One Christmas, it rained most of the day; another year, I'd fallen off a ladder the end of October, and wasn't up to a walk on Thanksgiving. But for the most part, it remained that tradition.
Most of the time, I'd walk through the park by myself, though there were a few times when my next-to-youngest son, M., came with me. We'd talk about different things, but one thing that sticks out is this: There are lamps throughout the park to light up the horse path around twilight. These lamps are very cool looking, almost retro-ish, like something you'd expect to see in early twentieth century London. And so, one Thanksgiving, M. mentioned that these lamps reminded him of C.S. Lewis's Narnia series. I asked M. about them, as I knew that there were two different orders of the books: the order in which Lewis wrote them, and the chronological order of them. M. used most of the hour-long walk to regale me about the books.
Then, on Christmas, M. came with me again.
"See that lamp?" he asked, pointing out the first one. "It reminds me of the lamps in Narnia." And he was off and gabbing. When Easter came, and M. came with me, I pointed out the lamp, then requested he not spend the hour talking about Narnia. (By the way, I now am the proud owner of the entire series. That's it, I have to read them!)
The only photo of one of the lamps. It's half-way down the path on the left-hand side. Look close...
I enjoyed seeing the subtle changes from holiday to holiday, year to year. One part of the woods always seemed easy to spot change. It was a stand of pale trees that looked different from most of the trees throughout the park. They were on my left, just before the turn-around point, and had a short path through them that went to part of a recreation center.
Lighter barked trees
Path, from rec center to horse path
Slowly, over the years, the stand changed, shifted. Trees fell, younger ones grew, the path disappeared, so that it's no longer there. It looks almost a total wreck.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Several years ago, on my Easter walk, I was tired, and had trouble keeping up my usual pace. So, I took my time, looking around at the different trees, the changes in the park, that sort of thing. I was actually exhausted, and probably should have stayed home, but after a few rough months - getting rid of a difficult roommate, losing my mom - I wanted to get out for my traditional walk. That was the first time I noticed what I've come to think of as the dancing tree.
Dancing Tree, Thanksgiving 2017
And again, Easter, 2019
Half-way to the end of the path - or, rather, my turn-around spot - the path turns to the left. Looking straight ahead, just before one turns, is a row of homes that were built several years ago. They weren't there the first few years I went for my walk. Now, I'm used to them, and enjoy hearing families talking in that sometimes-quiet-often-boisterous way that the holidays bring out. I could always spot which houses had the gatherings in full swing by the amount of chatter coming from the open windows.
One year, I discovered this plant behind the new houses. Unfortunately, it was one of the plants that was cut back.
At the end of the short road that the new-ish homes are is a white fence, signaling a dead end. On the other side of the fence was a cool older Florida-style home. I was always intrigued by it. One year, I even noticed a sign by the garage: Park Taxi Parking Only. Park Taxi had been a cab company in Pinellas Park that was bought out almost 30 years ago by one of the bigger cab companies. My ex had worked for the owners of Park Taxi.
I wondered about the sign, and later discovered that the old taxi owner had bought the house. I knew that the owners had split up after selling Park Taxi, but hadn't realized that the male half of the equation had moved to this house.
The sign that first got my attention
W.'s house, garage, property
Back porch
After learning that it had belonged to W., had been, most likely, the last place he lived before he passed away, I had thought it would be interesting to consider buying the place. It's yard was right up against part of the park, was surrounded by a fence on the north side (the other side of the white fence was the end of a short street with fairly new, nice-looking houses), a stable on the south side, and woods around the property.
One of the last times I passed the house, maybe a year or more ago, the back porch was littered with beer cans, as though either homeless people had camped out there, or someone had broken in and had a party on the back porch.
Wow, I hope someone ends up buying the place and fixing it up nicely, I thought, realizing that I would probably never come up with a down payment.
But it turned out, it had been bought. No one moved into it. Instead, the house and woods were torn down to put in apartments.
Where W.'s house had been
There was also a huge stand of trees a little farther along, at my turn-around point, that was torn down, as homeless people frequently slept there.
Missing trees at the turn around point. This had been heavily wooded.
I hadn't seen the destruction of woods at the turn-around point or where W.'s house had been over Thanksgiving or Christmas, 2018, as I had gone to the beach with my daughter, to relax and take photos (check out A Year (or More) of Photos, then type in either Thanksgiving or Christmas, 2018 for time spent there). But as I walked back home on Sunday, saddened by some of the changes, I began to realize that it might be time for a new holiday tradition - or, at least, a new place to walk.
This past Sunday was Easter, a time when many of us have family over for a holiday meal and to just hang out.
I know, I know, it's also a religious day, as in holy day. But that's beside the point. Most of us have traditions that get us through the holidays, the days, years, which is the point I'm getting to.
Years ago, when I'd quit driving cab, but my better half still drove, I decided to take a walk through a nearby park after putting the turkey into the oven. I'd already bake the pies, and wouldn't have to start the mashed potatoes, etc. for a few hours, so since the back entrance to the park is only a few houses away, I figured I'd burn some calories from the big meal ahead of time.
I picked one of the horse trails that I usually didn't go through the rest of the year for several reasons. It would take a good hour to head to the end of the trail and back; the scenery was a little different, and therefore, seemed a little more of a tradition (the holiday path is how I came to think of it); and the old standard, "just because." It was nice seeing the subtle changes from holiday to holiday.
Palm Frond, Easter, 2010
For the record, the holidays I'd go out for this walk remained the same three: Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter. I tried keeping up with this tradition, even after my better half retired. He'd use the time for a nap (who can't use a nap or two on the holidays!), while I got my alone time wandering through the wooded park. True, there were some holidays when I didn't make it out: One Christmas, it rained most of the day; another year, I'd fallen off a ladder the end of October, and wasn't up to a walk on Thanksgiving. But for the most part, it remained that tradition.
Most of the time, I'd walk through the park by myself, though there were a few times when my next-to-youngest son, M., came with me. We'd talk about different things, but one thing that sticks out is this: There are lamps throughout the park to light up the horse path around twilight. These lamps are very cool looking, almost retro-ish, like something you'd expect to see in early twentieth century London. And so, one Thanksgiving, M. mentioned that these lamps reminded him of C.S. Lewis's Narnia series. I asked M. about them, as I knew that there were two different orders of the books: the order in which Lewis wrote them, and the chronological order of them. M. used most of the hour-long walk to regale me about the books.
Then, on Christmas, M. came with me again.
"See that lamp?" he asked, pointing out the first one. "It reminds me of the lamps in Narnia." And he was off and gabbing. When Easter came, and M. came with me, I pointed out the lamp, then requested he not spend the hour talking about Narnia. (By the way, I now am the proud owner of the entire series. That's it, I have to read them!)
The only photo of one of the lamps. It's half-way down the path on the left-hand side. Look close...
I enjoyed seeing the subtle changes from holiday to holiday, year to year. One part of the woods always seemed easy to spot change. It was a stand of pale trees that looked different from most of the trees throughout the park. They were on my left, just before the turn-around point, and had a short path through them that went to part of a recreation center.
Lighter barked trees
Path, from rec center to horse path
Slowly, over the years, the stand changed, shifted. Trees fell, younger ones grew, the path disappeared, so that it's no longer there. It looks almost a total wreck.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Several years ago, on my Easter walk, I was tired, and had trouble keeping up my usual pace. So, I took my time, looking around at the different trees, the changes in the park, that sort of thing. I was actually exhausted, and probably should have stayed home, but after a few rough months - getting rid of a difficult roommate, losing my mom - I wanted to get out for my traditional walk. That was the first time I noticed what I've come to think of as the dancing tree.
Dancing Tree, Thanksgiving 2017
And again, Easter, 2019
Half-way to the end of the path - or, rather, my turn-around spot - the path turns to the left. Looking straight ahead, just before one turns, is a row of homes that were built several years ago. They weren't there the first few years I went for my walk. Now, I'm used to them, and enjoy hearing families talking in that sometimes-quiet-often-boisterous way that the holidays bring out. I could always spot which houses had the gatherings in full swing by the amount of chatter coming from the open windows.
One year, I discovered this plant behind the new houses. Unfortunately, it was one of the plants that was cut back.
At the end of the short road that the new-ish homes are is a white fence, signaling a dead end. On the other side of the fence was a cool older Florida-style home. I was always intrigued by it. One year, I even noticed a sign by the garage: Park Taxi Parking Only. Park Taxi had been a cab company in Pinellas Park that was bought out almost 30 years ago by one of the bigger cab companies. My ex had worked for the owners of Park Taxi.
I wondered about the sign, and later discovered that the old taxi owner had bought the house. I knew that the owners had split up after selling Park Taxi, but hadn't realized that the male half of the equation had moved to this house.
The sign that first got my attention
W.'s house, garage, property
Back porch
After learning that it had belonged to W., had been, most likely, the last place he lived before he passed away, I had thought it would be interesting to consider buying the place. It's yard was right up against part of the park, was surrounded by a fence on the north side (the other side of the white fence was the end of a short street with fairly new, nice-looking houses), a stable on the south side, and woods around the property.
One of the last times I passed the house, maybe a year or more ago, the back porch was littered with beer cans, as though either homeless people had camped out there, or someone had broken in and had a party on the back porch.
Wow, I hope someone ends up buying the place and fixing it up nicely, I thought, realizing that I would probably never come up with a down payment.
But it turned out, it had been bought. No one moved into it. Instead, the house and woods were torn down to put in apartments.
Where W.'s house had been
There was also a huge stand of trees a little farther along, at my turn-around point, that was torn down, as homeless people frequently slept there.
Missing trees at the turn around point. This had been heavily wooded.
I hadn't seen the destruction of woods at the turn-around point or where W.'s house had been over Thanksgiving or Christmas, 2018, as I had gone to the beach with my daughter, to relax and take photos (check out A Year (or More) of Photos, then type in either Thanksgiving or Christmas, 2018 for time spent there). But as I walked back home on Sunday, saddened by some of the changes, I began to realize that it might be time for a new holiday tradition - or, at least, a new place to walk.
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